


It's amazing what you can learn about people when they're under a lot of stress

by flamewarrior



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Dubious Consent, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-08
Updated: 2006-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamewarrior/pseuds/flamewarrior





	It's amazing what you can learn about people when they're under a lot of stress

He woke, shaking and took in a sharp breath. He opened his eyes and stared blankly at his pillow, confused, heartbeat making his whole body sway. Where was he? Plain, white fabric with an odd texture was under his cheek, under his fingers. Not home. Not Hogwarts.

A frail sound reached him from another room, a human sound, a hissing sound, trailing off into a moan. Oh god. Draco remembered where he was. Spinner's End, in Snape's cramped spare room. And that sound... Bile rose in Draco's throat. That sound was Snape, involved in some kind of – ugh – _sexual_ activity. The thought of Snape doing... _that_ was disgusting enough, but this, Draco knew, wasn't just Snape doing... _that_ it was Snape doing... _that_ with – Draco shuddered – Wormtail.

Another sound made its way through the air into Draco's unwilling ears. He shuddered again, feeling sicker by the moment as more noises came, getting louder, moans and hisses and _squelching_ noises, the slap of skin against skin.

Draco pulled the pillow over his head, trying to shut out the sounds, trying to keep away the images that kept flitting into his mind - Snape sucking Wormtail's horrid, twisted dick into his mouth, Snape shoving his cock up Wormtail's arse, pressing his face into a pillow and slapping his hand against one of Wormtail's pasty, wobbling buttocks.

Draco whimpered. Here he was, not only alone and afraid, but being subjected to mental images of _Snape_ and _Wormtail_ having _sex_. He felt a tear trailing down his cheek and brushed it away angrily. It was so unfair. He'd only been trying to be a good Malfoy, to uphold the family honour, to prove himself worthy of respect. A fat lot of good that had done him. He’d lost all the friends he’d ever had over his last year at Hogwarts. He’d even had to push Greg and Vince away, though they’d been loyal to the end, bless them.

He wished they were here now, big and strong and safe, chasing away his fears, like his first night at Hogwarts, when they’d all been a bit scared. Vince and Greg had climbed into his bed, as they used to do when they came to visit him at the Manor when they were small enough to spread and sprawl across the mattress without touching each other.

It was a bit different at eleven years old. They had pressed up against each other under the covers, Draco a little embarrassed, but even more grateful for Greg at his front and Vince at his back, keeping the dark and the unknown away from him, out of his mind. They’d ended up like that often over the years, when one or other of them had been scared witless. Usually Draco, he had to admit. They’d done it when the Heir of Slytherin had been on the prowl, when Draco’s murderous relative had escaped Azkaban, after that bastard Moody had turned him into a ferret.

Yeah, that time. Draco’s face flushed as he recalled the way he’d clung to Greg and cried, Greg’s fingers brushing over his hair, his breath shushing in his ear, both his and Vince’s arms around him, the gradual press of Vince’s hard groin against his bum, the pushing down of pyjama bottoms, then hands and spit and rubbing and gasping.

They’d done it a few times more, that year and the next. Then last year, Draco had put an end to it. He couldn’t remember why, now; something about more important things to think about. But really, where would have been the harm in a little physical comfort?

He missed them now, Greg and Vince. He wished he hadn’t been so nasty to them, so unkind, so mocking, so… so like a Malfoy. The noises from up the hall had stopped. He curled up into a ball, silent tears creeping slowly down his cheeks, wishing for things he couldn’t have.

\--00--00--00--

Tonks stood in the hallway of the Burrow, hidden in shadow, silent sobs making her body shake, furious tears streaking her face. How dare she! How dare _they_. She felt doubly, triply betrayed. She could still hear the wet sounds of Molly’s fingers, pushing in and out of Remus, hear Remus whispering his lover’s name – not “Tonks”, but “Sirius”.

She covered her ears with her hands and shut her eyes tight, rocking backwards and forwards, whimpering. Then, quite suddenly, she stopped. Her hands dropped into fists at her sides, her eyes snapped open and a look of determination came over her face. She turned round and headed for the stairs.

\--00--

The bedroom, when she entered it, was even darker than the hallway, and she metamorphosed her eyes into those of a cat to be able to see clearly. The room was quiet but for the sound of breathing. Tonks double-checked the room, making sure it was only one boy she could hear. She thought Ron was probably… elsewhere. Yes, Ron’s bed was still made and there was Harry, blankets twisted around his legs and waist, the faint light from around the curtains shining gently on his bare chest. His brow was wrinkled into a frown and his hands were twitching. Dreaming.

Tonks stood still, her resolve wavering for a moment, but she forced herself to remember what she had heard moments before. She took two long steps across the room, metamorphosing as she went. She looked down at the pale, freckled little hands now at the ends of her arms, and a twisted smile spread across her face. She took off her shoes, trousers and knickers and left them on the floor, then knelt by Harry’s bed and delicately slid her hand beneath the sheets, letting her fingertips trail down the hair on his belly. She brought her face down so that her lips were next to his ear.

“Harry,” she whispered. “Harry, wake up. I’ve got something for you.”

Her voice was high and girlish, and she cringed. No matter. Better that Harry really think it was…

“Hmm?”

She pressed her fingers lower, rubbing them in the rough curls at Harry’s groin.

“Hi, Harry.”

Harry turned his head and half-opened his eyes.

“Ginny? What are you…?”

Tonks didn’t want a conversation. She covered Harry’s mouth with her own, pushing her tongue into his mouth and curling her hand around his penis. His skin there was soft, so soft, much softer than Remus.

At that thought, anger and humiliation rushed through her. With her spare hand, she spelled his arms so that they could not move from the bed. She became rough, biting Harry’s lip and rolling his balls harshly on her palm, pressing them against his pelvis. Harry made a strangled noise into her mouth and his penis began to harden. Tonks pulled her mouth away from his, brushed back the covers to expose him and engulfed his cock with her mouth. Harry made a harsh shout, and Tonks covered his mouth with one of her hands to muffle it, pushing her fingers between his lips a moment later. He sucked around them, making whimpering sounds.

When he was fully hard, she lifted her mouth off him, licking saliva from around her lips; she climbed up onto the bed and straddled him, holding his cock upright with her hands. His mouth was wide open and he was gasping, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Once the tip of his cock was in her, she covered his open mouth with both her hands, ignoring his questioning look, and impaled herself on him in one swift movement.

She rode him hard and fast, eyes closed, rising up and down on her knees, then grinding down onto him, pressing her clit into his pubic bone and rubbing. He was groaning and moaning and trying to speak, she could tell, beneath her hands. The vibrations went straight to her groin. Ginny’s cunt was so tight, so responsive, that Tonks was jealous for a moment.

She laughed, breathless, and kept smiling as she looked down at Harry. She was rocking back and forth in quick little movements, the tingle and heat and rush building and then she came, slow and delicious, the waves of pleasure rolling again and again from her clit and cunt over her thighs, her belly, her breasts, her feet, her scalp. The orgasm went on and on. She threw back her head, her breath shuddering in and out, feeding the sensations.

She began rising up and down again, sliding up and down on Harry’s cock. She reached behind her with one hand, fondling his balls. She felt them tighten and then he was coming, his hips jerking up, his head pressing back against the pillow, eyes closed, a flush spreading across his chest and neck. Tonks looked down at him. His eyes remained closed, his breathing ragged. She was panting herself. She removed her hand from his mouth, trailing a finger down his neck and chest.

When Harry opened his eyes, she looked down at him, a calculating smile on her face.

“Wotcher, Harry.”

He gulped for air.

“God, Ginny, that was amazing!”

He didn’t seem to have heard her.

Tonks lifted herself off his softening cock, feeling his come trickling down the inside of her right thigh. The smile left her face as she climbed down off the bed, avoiding his gaze. She spelled herself clean and put her clothes back on.

“Ginny? What’s wrong?”

She looked back down at him, a hard look on her face.

“I wouldn’t be so sure I was Ginny, Harry. See you later.”

She looked away then and strode to the door, not looking behind her once. She didn’t release the Binding spell on Harry’s hands until she was almost out the door.

\--00--00--00--

Hermione couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it. She was sitting on a huge four-poster bed in one of the guest rooms at Malfoy Manor, having a civil conversation with Draco Malfoy. She didn’t believe a word he was saying, either, of course, but then the whole situation was so surreal that his claims seemed fitting somehow.

“Let me get this straight, Malfoy. You expect me to believe: one, that your father kidnapped you and brought you here unwilling; two, that the reason he kidnapped me and Ron is so that he could deflower us for some ancient Dark ritual; and three, that this ritual involves you having sex with me and, oh yes, your father buggering Ron?”

She was looking straight at Malfoy the whole while she was saying this. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, cool as a cucumber, and his only response to her question was a nod of the head. Hermione sighed. Perhaps he’d gone insane since he’d run away from Hogwarts. Maybe she should humour him.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “And your idea for how to escape from all of this unscathed is not to try to run away but to let your father carry on with the ritual and wait for the Order of the Phoenix to rescue us?”

Draco nodded again, the sunlight from the windows glistening in his hair.

“That’s about it, Granger. They’ve got until the dark moon to get here. That should be plenty of time.”

Hermione just stared at him, feeling as if she’d been Stupified.

“So, Malfoy, ignoring for a moment the question of how you know about the Order of the Phoenix, how do you know they’re going to come and get us?”

Malfoy smiled for the first time since he’d entered the room.

“Because I’ve sent a message to Severus.”

Malfoy looked at her as if he’d found the answer to life, the universe and everything and was just waiting for the world’s adulation. Hermione crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy, but I fail to see how that’s going to help.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Well obviously, Granger, Severus will alert the rest of the Order who will come to our rescue, recapturing my clearly insane father into the bargain and putting him somewhere he’ll be safe.”

She wasn’t sure, but Hermione thought his voice might have quavered just a little on those last few words. She also noted his particular choice of words – not ‘somewhere safe’ but ‘somewhere _he’ll_ be safe’. She nodded to herself, thinking for a moment.

“You do realize that certain Order members may kill Professor Snape on sight?”

Malfoy’s face went paler than normal and his face fell.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Malfoy, we all know that Snape was the one who killed Dumbledore.”

Malfoy looked like he was about to be sick.

“What? Bu-but he didn’t… how…”

His voice dwindled into nothing. He swallowed – it looked like he had something stuck in his throat – and stared at her.

“Malfoy, Harry was there on top of the tower in his Invisibility Cloak. He saw it all. We know it was Snape who cast the Killing Curse.”

“Invisibility…”

Malfoy’s voice was very faint. He dropped his head and rubbed his face with his hands.

“We’re fucked.”

\--00--

Draco was feeling nervous. He didn’t like feeling nervous. He chewed his lip and twisted his fingers together and pulled his hair back from his face then went back to chewing his lip again. He looked a wreck. Fuck, he couldn’t stand this any more. Ever since his meeting with Granger he’d been feeling dizzy and sick.

He’d intended to go and see the Weasel afterwards, just to let him know what was going on so he didn’t go and do something stupid, but after what he’d learned from Granger he couldn’t face it. The prospect of telling anyone, let alone the Weasel, that he was going to be buggered by Draco’s own father and that quite possibly no-one was going to come and save him was just too much to be borne. Anyway, father had confiscated both his prisoners’ wands, so there was a limit to the damage he could really do. He’d confiscated Draco’s wand too, for that matter.

He kept running through options in his head. He could Owl the Order himself, except he didn’t know where they were based. He could Owl one of the members of the Order, but he’d have to go and talk to Granger again to ask her their names and he didn’t think he could face that. He could Owl Severus again, but given what Granger had told him, what use would that be? Anyway, Severus had been there when his father had come for him, straight from Azkhaban, and he hadn’t lifted a bloody finger.

Draco sighed. He found himself wishing Pansy were there. She always made him feel better, made him laugh, took his mind off his troubles. Of course! He could Owl Pansy, invite her over. At least he wouldn’t have to face this alone.

\--00--

Draco and Pansy sat together on his windowsill, resting against each other in companionable silence, looking out over the Manor grounds. It was still raining out there, and misty too. Draco was miserable. Pansy was being very philosophical about it all, which made it worse. He felt so guilty. He’d only wanted her here to make him feel better.

He’d asked his father about inviting her, to make sure he didn’t have any surprises in his current unstable state. He had seemed neither bothered nor pleased, at the time. But when Pansy arrived, it became clear that his father had rather specific plans for her, plans involving the ritual. Draco had asked Pansy not to tell anyone where she was going, so there was no-one to come asking after her.

He looked over at her. She really wasn’t very pretty, but she was a pureblood, even if she wasn’t from an old landed family. He’d always thought he could do worse than to marry her, they got on so well. It had never occurred to him to ask Pansy what she thought about it. He looked down to her hands, resting softly on her lap. He reached over and took one of her hands in his. She looked up at him, her dreamy gaze becoming clear.

“Pans.”

Draco licked his lips and swallowed.

“Yes, Draco?”

He looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her face.

“Erm, Pans, when all this is over, I mean, the Dark Lord and everything, I mean, whoever wins in the end, would you, er…”

He shifted his eyes to the window again, but the pressure of Pansy’s fingers on his brought his attention back to her.

“Yes, Draco?”

He looked her straight in the eye, took a deep breath and with a great effort managed to speak clearly.

“When all this is over, would you possibly consider, maybe, perhaps, thinking about,” he swallowed again, “marrying me?”

He dropped his gaze to their joined hands once again, a tight ache in his throat. He felt soft fingers on his chin, pushing his face up until he was looking at Pansy again. She was smiling.

“Yes, Draco.”

\--00--

Harry felt nervous. He didn’t feel happy about this mission. It was bound to be a trap. But Remus and Moody had both insisted. Yes, one of the warnings had come from Snape, yes, the other had come on a parchment with a Malfoy seal, but they didn’t have any other leads on where Hermione and Ron had got to, and Harry had to admit he had no other ideas himself. It was worth a try, he supposed, but he didn’t have to like it. He blew over the top of his coffee, elbows resting on the worn old table, waiting for the others to arrive.

“Wotcher, Harry.”

Harry blushed and kept his eyes firmly on his coffee.

“Hello, Tonks.”

“No-one else here yet?”

He could hear her steps crossing the kitchen.

“No, not yet.”

Harry felt her sit down right next to him. His cheeks were burning.

“Just you and me then, eh, Harry?”

He jumped up, leaving his full coffee cup on the table, looking at the floor.

“I’ll go and see where they’ve got to.”

His voice was high and wavering. He barely held himself back from running out of the room. Once he was in the hallway, he gripped onto the banister and stayed there, eyes closed, trying to slow his breathing and his heartbeat.

It had taken him ages to work it out. At first he thought Ginny was just being really weird with those comments when she’d left his room that night. God, that had been intense. They’d never gone anywhere near that far before. Not that Harry’d been complaining. True, they weren’t going out any more, but if Ginny wanted sex then Harry’s hormones were more than happy to overpower his scruples.

But when he’d managed to get her alone the next day to work out where they stood, she’d denied being anywhere near his and Ron’s room that night. Harry thought that maybe she regretted it, or was just plain embarrassed at what she’d done. But when he’d told her it was okay, it had been great, really, really great and he wouldn’t mind doing it again, but he just wanted to know where they stood, the look she’d given him hadn’t been embarrassed, just very confused. Then she’d looked as if she might start crying and had run off. She’d avoided Harry for the whole of the rest of his stay at the Burrow.

Harry hadn’t been able to work it out so he’d stopped trying. He had the Horcruxes to search for now. He could sort everything out with Ginny once he’d killed Voldemort. Then at dinner, Tonks had brushed past him in the corridor.

“Wotcher, Harry. Have a good night?”

It could have been a completely innocent question if you just heard the words, but the look on Tonks’ face had been an undisguised leer. Harry had felt frozen to the spot as she’d rubbed her breasts against his chest and her hand over his crotch and carried on to the sitting room. Those odd words from the previous night came back to him. That had been _Tonks_? It felt like his stomach was twisting up inside him. He’d lost his virginity to Tonks? Oh dear God.

Now every time he saw her – which was often – he went quiet and blushed and did everything he could to avoid looking at her. And now he was going on a mission with her. Bloody great. And Remus, which was going to awful. He’d managed to avoid Remus completely since the… incident, and he had no idea how he was going to exchange even two words with him without burning up with shame. He was sure what he’d done must be as plain as the glasses on his face.

At least Moody was coming too. Harry had been clinging to that fact ever since the mission had been agreed. There’d be one person around he could look at without blushing, someone around to deflect the barbs that passed for conversation between Remus and Tonks these days. He had a nasty feeling that had something to do with him. He just hoped Hermione and Ron were at Malfoy Manor when they got there and they could get them out. That would make it all worthwhile.

\--00--

“Don’t worry about it Draco. Hermione’s not that bad-looking, and it’s not like I haven’t eaten twat before. Even Mudblood twat.” Pansy ignored Draco’s shocked look. “We’ll get through this and then it’ll all be over.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “But if you actually put your cock in her, you won’t recognise it by the time I’m finished with you.”

Draco went white and nodded mutely. Good, Pansy thought, that’s that sorted out.

“What if father notices I’m not, um, you know?”

Draco was so sweet when he was nervous. Pansy just wanted to wrap him up in her arms and cuddle him. She settled for patting him on the forearm.

“Don’t worry, Draco, he’ll be far too busy with the Weasel to be concerned with what we’re up to. Anyway, I’m sure we can angle ourselves so he can’t actually see any details.”

“Okay,” Draco whispered.

Poor darling, he looked like he wasn’t feeling very well. She couldn’t blame him really. Pansy was jolted from her examination of Draco by a sound close by. The oak door before them creaked open, and Lord Malfoy appeared, hollow-cheeked and wild-eyed. He was wearing a long, plain black cloak – like the ones he’d given she and Draco to wear – and holding a candle-stick in his left hand.

“Come. It is time,” he said and turned round, obviously expecting them to follow.

Well, at least we won’t be subjected to a sermon, thought Pansy. All the better to get it over with quickly. She’d hidden it well from Draco, but she was feeling rather nervous about this rite herself. Dark rituals were always a bit difficult to control, and sex magic was notorious for having a mind of its own. She hoped Lord Malfoy knew what he was doing. Although given the look in his eyes she couldn’t be too sure of that.

She took Draco’s hand and pulled him after her through the doorway. The corridor behind it was dim, lit only by the fluttering glow of the candle, and Lord Malfoy’s footsteps echoed around them. It sounded like the walls and floor were made of stone, but Pansy couldn’t quite see.

“Where are we going?” she whispered, not taking her eyes of Lord Malfoy’s back.

“I think this corridor leads to the dungeons. Or it might be the crypt,” Draco shuddered slightly at the word, “I’m not quite sure.”

Pansy kept her grip on him as they reached a set of steps, definitely stone, curving downwards in a sharp spiral.

“We’ll have to go single file,” he whispered, “I’ll go first. You keep hold of my robe.”

Pansy let him past her to indicate her consent, and gripped on to the neck of his robe as he moved in front of her.

The staircase went on and on. Pansy was just wondering if it would ever end when Draco stopped abruptly in front of her. She looked over his shoulder and saw Lord Malfoy standing still, as if he were frozen, in front of another door. It was old, made of some dark, dark wood, worn and pitted, held up by three huge iron hinges. Lord Malfoy put out his hand and opened the door, orange light shining over his face from the room within.

“Enter.”

Pansy felt for Draco’s hand and squeezed it tight. They stepped forward together, once more following Lord Malfoy. They took a few steps into the room, then Draco stopped. It took Pansy a moment longer for her eyes to adjust to the torchlight and she shuffled to a halt before she could properly take in her surroundings. When she did, she saw why Draco had stopped. She gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

She was in a small, high-ceilinged room surrounded by stone pillars. On each pillar was a flickering orange torch. The floor was parquet, but she could barely see the wood for all the symbols painted on it – she made out a septagon, octagon and pentagon all crossing one another, with curling sigils she didn’t recognise marked in the spaces between the straight lines. The symbols were dark against the floor and she didn’t like to think what Lord Malfoy had used to paint them.

But the sight that had made Draco stop, the part of the tableau that had made her gasp, was the two naked bodies, one male, one female, floating a foot off the floor at either side of the room, obviously under the grip of a _Petrificus Totalis_. And that wasn’t the only spell the Weasel and the Mudblood girl were under, Pansy was sure, for their faces were twisted into the kind of grimace that meant either extreme, unbearable pleasure, or extreme, unbearable pain. She found herself hoping it was the former.

She looked over at Draco, who was still rooted to the spot, then to Lord Malfoy, who had removed his cloak. He was completely naked underneath, as were both she and Draco, but he had sigils painted all over him. This was not good. She knew Lord Malfoy had become a little less than sane, but this was scaring her far worse than she’d thought it would.

She looked at Draco. It would be alright, it would be alright. They just needed to pretend to take part and then it would be over and she would find a way to take Draco home with her. There was a bumping sound and she looked round to see the two bodies sprawled on the floor.

“Remove your cloaks and take your positions over there with the Mudblood girl. I shall be on this side of the room with the blood traitor’s son.”

Lord Malfoy gave his orders as if he were talking about Quidditch or the weather or the state of the begonias in his wife’s garden. Pansy and Draco jumped and obeyed, unclasping their cloaks and letting them drop. They walked over to Granger and helped her up off the floor, holding her upright. Pansy heard Draco whispering something to the naked wretch, but she couldn’t hear his words. Whatever they were, she either didn’t want to or couldn’t reply.

“That’s right, very good.”

Lord Malfoy himself had pulled the Weasley boy roughly up onto his feet, holding him in place with one hand clamped firmly on his upper arm.

“You must wait for me to finish the incantations, then you must deflower the girl, slowly and with deliberation. If she experiences pleasure, despite her unwillingness, it will strengthen the spell. Then when the Potter boy arrives and we bind him, we shall be redeemed in the Dark Lord’s eyes!”

\--00--

As soon as his father had said that bit about Potter, Draco had known two things. Firstly, that his father was completely and utterly stark raving mad and secondly that everything was going to be alright. If Potter was going to show up, that meant some of the Order would show up too, and everything would be just fine.

Eventually.

He listened as his father droned his way through the incantation. He could feel the energy shifting in the room, starting to stick to the symbols on the ground, to collect around them. Mad his father may be, but he certainly knew what he was doing with magic. When he saw that his father had finished speaking and was pawing at that awful Weasley boy (such pasty skin he had, and all those freckles), he turned to look at Granger and Pansy.

Pansy nodded to him, a solemn look on her face, and they both leaned in to kiss Granger’s cheeks. Tears had started to make their way down to her chin and Draco bent slightly to catch them before they fell.

“I’m truly sorry about this, Granger. Just hold on there. Potter’s on his way.”

He kept his voice low, barely a whisper, as he breathed over her ear, moving around to stand behind her as Pansy moved to face her. That was good. His father would be able to see what Pansy was doing, but Draco would be guarded from view. It occurred to him now that in addition to saving his bits from a hexing by Pansy, Granger might rather appreciate not losing her virginity to Draco.

He caressed her hair and stroked her shoulders, trying to stay as non-sexual as possible, but it was difficult. The magic conjured by the symbols and his father’s incantation was attracted to his bare skin. He could feel it tingling against his bare buttocks, wrapping itself around his balls and his cock, making him spring to attention.

His cock brushed against Granger’s buttocks as it rose and he gave an involuntary shudder. Before he realized what he was doing, he was mouthing her neck, nipping her flesh with his teeth, grabbing hold of her hips and rubbing himself against her. He could hear Pansy moaning, muffled noises as if she too had a mouth full of something.

The thought of Pansy with her mouth full of Granger’s pubes, her tongue up in her cunt or licking over her clit brought sensation alive all over Draco’s body and he let out a strangled cry, pressing his front flush against Granger. He felt her quivering and he brought his arms around her waist to make sure she didn’t fall. His hands found her breasts and he cupped them, grasped at them, all the while frotting against her behind.

He was becoming frustrated, the sex magic in the room raising his arousal, but the stimulation of rubbing against Granger not enough to bring him off. The feeling grew, and he became desparate, making pleading sounds into Granger’s ear. He couldn’t stand it any longer, he couldn’t stand it, he was going to die. Then, oh at last, a hand worked its way around his cock, holding firmly, pushing and pulling up and down faster and faster until he was on the edge of bliss.

He stayed there, balanced on the edge of ecstasy for an age, for a second, then he came, crashing down, his hands squeezing around Granger’s breasts, his cock pulsing in Pansy’s hand, his mouth open and gasping. Just a few moments and it was over. He dropped his head down to rest on Granger’s shoulder, taking his hands off her breasts but still clinging to her as he came down from his orgasm high.

“Oh my God!”

Draco was sure he’d only thought that, or maybe whispered it. He hadn’t really shouted like that had he?

“Stupefy! Stupefy!”

Oh dear, he thought as he slipped into oblivion, we’ve been rescued.

\--00--00--00--

At least, Harry thought, one good thing had come out of this. He wasn’t embarrassed to sit next to Tonks any more. He didn’t think he would ever be embarrassed again. Nothing, nothing in this whole world, could possibly be as mortifying as seeing your best friend with a madman’s cock stuffed up his arse, and apparently enjoying it.

He was back at Grimmauld Place. They all were: Harry, Moody, Tonks, Remus, Ron, Hermione, Draco, Pansy and Lucius Malfoy. Hermione had insisted. Moody had been all for AK-ing the older Malfoy on the spot, and putting a permanent binding spell on the younger one for good measure, but Hermione had intervened and, rather bizarrely, defended Draco, saying he’d been trying to protect them all. Even while Harry was sure she still had some of the wanker’s come drying on her right arse cheek.

He trusted Hermione, though, they all did, so here they all were, playing unhappy families at Grimmauld Place. Hermione seemed to be completely unaffected by the experience, and happily sat in the kitchen talking over cocoa, or settled in the lounge to read a book or play a round of Exploding Snap with Harry or Tonks.

But Ron, Ron was a different matter entirely. Harry’d barely seen him since the rescue and when he had they’d both gone bright red and rushed off in different directions, mumbling about just having to do something urgent. Like get away from each other. He asked Hermione about him every other day but she said he just needed some time to recover his dignity. Harry thought it was going to take a very, very long time.

\--00--00--00--

Epilogue

It had been too easy, really. Stupid Gryffindors. That clumsy Auror with the pink hair for instance, far too simple to turn into a beetle and catch a ride on her trouser leg. If only her editor would let her publish all the stories she’d picked up over the last few months, she’d be the most famous journalist the Wizarding world had ever known. Forget about the _Daily Prophet_ , she’d be Anchor Witch for WWN.

But no, her editor had decided it was time to find some morals. Where he’d found them from she had no idea, at an Ottery St. Catchpole jumble sale for all she knew. He’d never shown any signs of having them before, it had been one of his more endearing qualities. Goodness knew he had few enough.

But she was finally getting something out of all of her hard work, she thought, as she looked at the naked girl spread-eagled and bound on the bed before her. It had taken very little to convince Miss Hermione Granger that Rita was right: being involved in a Dark, sex magic ritual with a mad Malfoy was worth so much more in the currency of blackmail than being an unregistered Animagus.

Rita inspected the finger nails of her right hand and shrunk them with her wand. She didn’t want the little bitch to suffer too much pain. Not yet, anyway, and not _there_. There she would suffer the indignity of unwanted pleasure, if Rita had anything to do with it.

“How are you doing down there, sweetheart?” simpered Rita.

Hermione scowled back at her, but didn’t move.

“Oh, of course, you can’t speak, can you darling?”

Rita ran the still talon-like nails of her left hand down the girl’s face, down her neck, over her chest. She clawed and pressed as she passed over the soft flesh of her breast and nipple, leaving bright red scratch marks against the pale skin. Sweet revenge.

“Oh, we’re going to have such fun. Perhaps we’ll have to do it again. And again. And again.”

Hermione’s brow creased and a muffled sound could be heard from behind her gag. Rita laughed. Sweet, sweet revenge.


End file.
